


Not Yours

by Brieflydoodles



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse, Other, abuse recovery, mental health
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-21 03:08:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21292616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brieflydoodles/pseuds/Brieflydoodles
Summary: A story of recovery from abuse.
Kudos: 1





	Not Yours

You sit and watch, silent as death, as he stares at you in worry. You have nothing left inside you, you are but an empty shell. You are a being, walking and breathing, but you are no longer truly alive. You know he knows, he must see it in your sleep-deprived eyes. Somehow he's the only one who still stirs something within you. It is small, and miniscule, but it is there, and you wonder why he has not left you yet so your soul can finally die completely. It is only what you deserve, the demon let you know that.

He does not leave, and slowly…. slowly… he revives more of that small flame deep down in you. The light flickers, small and feeble, threatened and quivering at every little breeze, but it is there. His hand finds yours to lead you, and he only offers you smiles and support as he takes you through these places he calls home.

But he is not yours. That simple reminder is enough to nearly snuff out that small flame all over again, and you look away when he tries to smile at you.

  


You stand by and watch a tearful reunion, he is laughing with her and they are spinning in circles like a movies ending cliche. Something about it all has formed a pit in your stomach. You look away, look at the others standing by. They are smiling. You can't find a reason to smile. You feel the bile rising in your throat. You tell yourself it's because you find the sappiness disgusting. That small fire within pops, painful sparks flying off of it because it knows you are lying.

He doesn't lead you by your hand anymore. He walks with her instead. You stay where you are, several paces behind and simply watch. You watch, and analyze, and puzzle over the way the reignited flame seems to love twisting in the hollow of your chest so painfully. Could it not just stay put out? Why must it insist on returning if it will only cause you pain? Her words don't register when she speaks to you, every flash of their teeth as they laugh with each other is another needle stabbing into the flames.

They are not yours. The flames jump and sends the needles falling, stabbing into your ribs. Your chest hurts.

  


She tries so hard to get on your good side. She desperately seeks your approval. You'd find it amusing if the laughter wouldn't just echo painfully against your hollowed chest. She is like a pup, master of wide, captivating eyes that draw you in so you will throw it a scrap or two. You stop ignoring her existence. You only are throwing her some scraps, that's all.

But soon scraps turn to dropping large portions of your meal for the pup and you ignore the warnings and yells from inside you. You find her company comforting, regardless of the pain she caused you merely by existing. You find yourself opening up to her, and you can feel her soft, sympathetic whispers fanning the flames, allowing them to grow. You hate it. You hate _ her _. The flames spark again, you wince as the smoke floats into your mind and whispers that you're lying.

She is not yours. You do not deserve her attempts to fan your flame. You do not deserve her pure, innocent love and care.

You fear a being as tainted as you is going to dirty that innocence she holds. The flames do not spark.

  


You start to realize your anger and pain was misplaced. It was never that they didn't care. They were scared of snuffing out your delicate little fire, so they kept a distance that you yourself had established without realizing. As your walls fall, and that flame continues to grow, warming your once empty chest, you find perhaps their company is not horrible. He seems relieved you are interacting more. She smiles at you warmly whenever you do.

You smile for the first time in months at something he says while you sit around a fire. It feels foreign, the upturn of your mouth, but the flames jump in a way that feels nice rather than painful, so you do not dwell on it. As weeks pass you find yourself smiling more at things they say. You find yourself even giving a soft, short laugh at a joke she cracks while you three are hiking through the wilderness again. The laugh is what startles you most. It echoes.

This laughter is not yours. You aren't a being meant to find joy such as this. The ghost of the demon hisses the lies into your mind, and despite the years, you still can't fight all of its words.

  
  


You remember when they appear. The metal clad face, gears clicking as their mouth opens and closes. They tell you the demon wishes for your return. You're frozen in fear while he and she leap to fight them off. You watch in shock when he is sent cracking against a tree, gasp when she is sent flying, flopping to the ground like a ragdoll. For the first time in a long while, the flames ignite to their fullest and you are taken over by heat-driven rage.

You find yourself with them pinned to the soil, fists crashing down against them again and again and again. And suddenly you hear him, yelling to stop. His arms are around you, but he doesn't pull you away, you don't know if he can. His cheek rests tiredly against the back of your head, his arms tighten just slightly as your hands falter. Suddenly she is there too, arms around your middle, leaning against your side. “Enough” she whispers, and that was the moment you realize she was never innocent. Her eyes hold a depth to them that tell you she has seen too much death, too much war, and you don't know how you ever mistook her kindness for purity. For lack of _ experience _ . You look down at _ them _, metal face crushed and unrecognizable. You look at your dirtied hands.

This life was not yours. It was not yours to take.

For the first time in your existence, you sob. You had cried before, but you had never _ sobbed _. Sobbing openly with large ugly tears on your face, all but screaming your bottled up anguish and guilt to the world. He and she do not budge from their dutiful spots against your frame, their arms the only thing holding you together as you crack at the seams.

  


You remember everything after that. Your walls were completely demolished, your hollowness disappearing more with every second. The fire was still there, and often it would turn too hot and burn at your insides, but you were managing it better slowly. Every day was a step towards healing. He and she held your hands to lead the way, but soon rather than following behind, you were keeping pace.

You thought back to the days you were hollow, nothing but a shell. You think and wonder _ how _ you lived like that so long. You hurt still, but you also laugh and smile and cry and _ love _. You cannot imagine going back to that emptiness again. You feel as if you've broken free of the shell that held the hollow you, discarded it somewhere along the path you travel with the two who never gave up on you.

That shell is not yours. You say goodbye to it with no disdain, and you turn to retake the hands that wait patiently for you.

  
  


You remember when it happened. When the demon reared its ugly head once more and others came screaming for help. A part of you wished you stayed to help comfort them, but all you could focus on was that _ it _ had returned. You went as quickly as you could, overtook with a bitterness and anger harbored deep within you, specially held only for this monster that plagued your nightmares.

It smiled when you appeared, and you felt dirty just feeling it's gaze upon you. You stood strong nonetheless, meeting it's gaze unwavering. It commented that you'd changed, grown stronger, how proud it was of your growth; all sweet, honey-covered praises that you knew held a bitter core to them. It extended its clawed hands, tells you to return to its side, tells you how it missed you. It reminds you that you are it's and no one else's…

You meet its eyes and evenly you say words you could not have said before.

“I am not yours.”


End file.
